


Make it Better

by Thranduil_is_a_bitchking



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Not A Happy Ending, i am a wreck, i have too many feelings, pretty sure I cried writing this, sorry - Freeform, spoilers for the finale, twissy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 02:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11370891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking/pseuds/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking
Summary: 'Please,' he begs her. Please what? Please be alive? Please get better? Please let me be better? Make me better. Make it better.





	Make it Better

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Right. That finale. There's so much I need to talk about. I am a wreck. I have too many feelings about this, so here I am. Writing angst. Again. Sad times. 
> 
> There are major spoilers for the season 10 finale here, so if you haven't seen it please don't read it.
> 
> As always,  
> Enjoy!

He's running. He's too old to be running. Explosions make him flinch, even though he's causing them. The Cybermen take a second to regroup. That or he manages to outrun them.

All that's running through his head now is pain. The pain of betrayal, the pain of knowing he's going to die. There's a hollow emptiness in his mind, and pain. So much pain.

His knees pound with the pressure. Sticks crack under his feet. He's running towards the lifts. Maybe he can detonate the explosion just before the doors close. Maybe he'll find Nardole and Bill. Maybe he'll fix everything. Maybe he won't. Maybe he can't. 

Then he sees her. 

He skids to a dead stop. His ribcage tightens. 

'No.' 

It's all he can think. All he can say. He repeats it like a mantra. 

Slowly, he walks to her. Nestled beneath the trees is Missy. Her eyes are open. They stare blankly at the projected sky. They're blue. Impossibly blue. 

With each step he prays she's joking. She'll sit up and her eyes will sparkle with mischief and humour. Or she'll laugh. Or she'll kill him. Or she'll move, or breathe, or _live_. He drops to his knees. She's still lying there, cold and still and dead. 

_Dead._

The Doctor searches her for a pulse, but he finds nothing. The hollow emptiness expands. It hurts. She's gone from his mind. Gone from this life. 

'Missy,' he says. Maybe he screams her name. Maybe it's only a broken whisper. His finger traces mud down her cheek. Her skin is cold. It shouldn't be cold. 

His eyes sting. He closes hers. Those blue eyes. He'll never see them again. 

'Koschei.' There are so many things he wants to say to her. So many things he never said to her. 

Shaking fingers press to her temples. Her mind is cold and dark. There are echoes. He hears her laughing. He hears her speaking, her past self. He relives her last moments. He feels it, her pain. She was afraid. So afraid.

'I'm here,' he says. 'I've got you.'

The last threads of her consciousness slip away, like sand through his fingers. He grapples for them, but they fall through his grasp. He's left with nothing. Nothing but his name, whispered on a prayer. Her last breath. 

He gathers her into his arms. His body buckles. This pain. This grief. It overwhelms him. It hurts. More than anything. More than Clara. More than Bill. More than River. 

'Please,' he begs her. Please _what_? Please be alive? Please get better? Please let me be better? Make me better. Make _it_ better. Make _everything_ better. ' _Please._ '

He's supposed to protect her. What good is he? A Doctor who can't save her. He can't save her. He couldn't save her, like she'd saved him. There's nothing he can do to make this better. Missy's gone. His Missy. His Koschei.

His eyes search her face. He isn't sure what it is he's looking for. Breathing is hard. Salty tears fall from his eyes. They land warm on her skin. They drip down her cheeks as if they were her own. 

He holds her closer. He buries his face into her neck and cries. He screams his grief into her skin. She's limp in his arms, and so, so cold.

The Cybermen are coming. He can hear them. His gaze remains on Missy. Her high cheekbones are dusted with grey. Her lips are blue. She looks cold. She is cold. He shrugs off his jacket. It's hard. He can't let her go. The floor is dirty. She doesn't like to be dirty. _Didn't_. She didn't like to be dirty. She wouldn't want to be dirty. 

'There you go.' His jacket is warm, and he drapes it over her shoulders. He smiles. It's shaky. 'That's better.'

It's not.

Metal and hydraulics hiss around him. Pain explodes in his shoulder, but it does nothing to overshadow the agony in his hearts. 

He raises his head. His body bends, his arms tightening around her. His eyes are a challenge. The Cybermen say nothing. They shoot him again, and again, and again. 

He's angry. Each shot stokes the flames of his rage. Furious, and so, so sad. He points his sonic to the sky. He protects Missy from the explosion with his body. The fire is hot. It rages around them. He holds Missy tighter. He holds her until he has no strength in his limbs. 

'I hoped there'd be stars.'

He'd hoped there'd have been planets, and festivals, and confessions. He'd hoped there'd have been supernovas, and snow, and sun. He hoped they'd have had their forever. 

His last breath is shaky and rattling, but she's there. Missy's there. 

She always makes it better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please drop me a comment and tell me what you think!


End file.
